


Gotta Get Up. Move.

by Ashtree11



Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [19]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 2020 Fodlan Summer Olympics, BMX, BMX time baybeee, Gen, OCs as Ingrid's siblings, Past Injuries, Sports-typical Anxiety, cuz this year was supposed to be the debut of bmx as an olympic sport but covid had to ruin it, hashing it out with the father figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtree11/pseuds/Ashtree11
Summary: BMX rider Ingrid "The Pegasus" Galatea readies herself for the biggest day of her career, and she has everything she could possibly need: supportive friends, her siblings coming to watch her, her eyes on the prize. But something has always been missing, something she convinced herself that didn't need: acceptance.
Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881421
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Gotta Get Up. Move.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, my turn now, oh boi. It's been a super fun experience getting to be a part of his project and I couldn't have done it without the support and encouragement of TheUnqualified1, Avaryss_Ashley, and all the other amazing writers on the discord. And thank you to Rising_Chaos for beta'ing this fic as well (thanks for keeping my ramblings and liberal uses of And and But at the beginning of sentences in check <33)
> 
> (Title based on the song Move by Saint Motel. Thanks for the help on Ingrid's BMX playlist, Quali :3)

Ingrid could hardly believe she was here. Then again, every athlete that’s come before her has undoubtedly felt the same. Any normal person would find this moment surreal.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror didn’t do much to ground her in reality. Nor did it help calm her rapidly beating heart. She drew slow, steady breaths to calm herself, yet she only seemed to grow more erratic and shaken. She was thankful that the other competitors went outside already, the last thing she needed was to look like she was about to pass out in front of them.

Turning the faucet on, she splashed her face with the cold tap. Her hands lingered over her face, amplifying her steady breathing as the water sloshed into the sink. Meanwhile her heartbeat gradually slowed as she focused on the feeling of droplets running down her cheek and dribbling off her chin.

When she dragged her hands away, her eyes drifted to her scar over her left eyebrow. Scars were commonplace on her body, being a BMX rider had given her plenty to remember her injuries by. This one on her eyebrow was perhaps the worst reminder she’s ever gotten. 

She was eleven, and she fell off her bike in the middle of a backflip—landed wrong by placing too much weight on her front tire and the bike was wrenched from her grip. The next and only thing she knew was black asphalt. While her helmet spared her from any fatal damage, the blood that gushed from the cut scared her parents half to death. 

Their pleas for her to quit the sport, calling it a dangerous and reckless pursuit, echoed in her ears as she traced the scar. No hair grew there anymore, there was only a pale, raised line that stopped just shy of her eyelid.

To think this could’ve been the thing that prevented her from being where she is today. Now  _ that _ was surreal to think about. Even to this day her parents, especially her father, didn’t approve of her choice of becoming a professional BMX rider. It hardly mattered that she was at the  _ Olympics _ , neither of them were going to show. 

She sighed and combed her fingers through her bangs until the scar was covered.

“Ingrid!” a voice called out. 

But there were two other people who have always shown up.

A breathless laugh fell from her lips as she shoved herself away off the sink and left the bathroom. On the other side of the door stood Axill and Astrid, both of them wearing matching grins that Ingrid herself couldn’t help but return.

“You two shouldn’t be in here, you know,” she said.

“What and _ not _ see our baby sister off before her big event?” Astrid locked Ingrid in a loose headlock, ruffling her short blonde hair affectionately.

Ingrid groaned in protest, but only half heartedly shoved her sister away. “Alright, alright.” she groused with a light chuckle. “Thanks for coming guys.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Axill said warmly and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Win or lose today, Ingrid, we’re both really proud of you.”

“Thanks...” Ingrid said, smiling weakly at him. His sentiment left a hollow feeling in her chest though. It was just the two of them here for her. Of course her father wouldn’t bother to even give her a good luck message, let alone actually show up.

“Ugh, you’re such a sap!” Astrid said, punching her twin’s arm. “Besides, that’s not what you’re supposed to say because of course she’s gonna win.”

Axill crossed his arms. “Yeah? What would  _ you _ say then?”

“Crush them into the dust, Ingrid!”

“That’s just putting more pressure on her!” he protested.

Looking between the two, Ingrid couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter. She laughed before she had a chance to stifle it, earning her curious looks from her older siblings.

“I’m sorry,” she said between giggles. “I’m just... I’m just really glad you guys are here.”

The twins frowned and shared a look. It didn’t take much to know the underlying meaning behind Ingrid’s words. 

“Hey, it’s still early and you’re in the last heat of the event. They can still turn up,” Axill offered.

Ingrid merely shrugged, putting on her best indifferent smile. “It’s whatever. I’m not going to get my hopes up.”

“Ingrid...” her sister trailed.

“I’m fine, Astrid, really,” she insisted.

Neither of them believed her words, not even Ingrid, though she wanted to so badly. Why was it so important that she still sought her parents’ approval after all these years? Ridiculous.

Axill laid a hand on her shoulder and jerked his chin in the direction of the exit. “Oh yeah, we saw your friend Sylvain outside.”

Ingrid dragged a hand down her face, not even remotely surprised. This was a women’s division sport after all. “Of course he is,” she deadpanned. Though deep down she was thankful for any semblance of a distraction. Perhaps that was what her brother was hoping for as well. “I better get out there and stop him from getting kicked out for harassing the other girls.”

“Just don’t get carried away. We wouldn’t want to have to bail you out of prison for murder on your big day,” Astrid joked.

“You’re right: too many witnesses here.”

Astrid snickered and gave her arm a light punch. “Atta girl.”

When Ingrid found Sylvain, he was chatting with a woman, exactly how she knew she’d find him. She looked to be a regular audience member though, not one of the other competitors, so that ruled out his predictable excuse of ‘softening up the competition’ for her.

“Can’t go a single day without chasing skirts, can you. What would Felix think?” She crossed her arms when Sylvain stiffly turned to face her. While he gave her a sheepish smile that did nothing to crack the unamused expression on her face. 

“Sorry if he said anything inappropriate,” she said to the girl.

“N-no it’s fine.” 

She smiled. “Good.” Then she turned her attention back to Sylvain, missing how the woman sported a blush and scurried away from the two.

“I promise it’s not what you think,” he defended.

“Uh huh. I seriously doubt that.”

“No really! She’s a big fan of yours and I, being your best friend and best wing man, was just trying to grease the wheels to score you a date.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m flattered, but just because she’s a fan doesn’t mean that she’ll want to date me, Sylvain. 

“Aw come on.” He poked her eyebrow scar with a smirk. “The famous Ingrid “Pegasus” Galatea who bears  _ this _ little gem in her arsenal? The ladies go absolutely wild for you.”

She swatted his hand away, more out of reflex than hostility. “Yeah right,” she scoffed. “What’s so appealing about a scar like mine?”

Sylvain winked. “I can’t speak for everyone, but scars are pretty sexy.” He flicked her bangs up. “And with this haircut of yours, you hardly even need my help here, Ingrid. You’re a ladykiller. ”

“You’re so full of it,” she groused, shoving him. Though her exasperated smile softened whatever edge she had over him. As ridiculous as his sentiment was, a little bloom of confidence warmed her chest.

“Can I have all contestants come forward for the line up, please?” the announcer rallied. “All contestants come forward for the opening line up.”

Ingrid jumped. Was it time already? “Crap, uh, I gotta get my bike. And helmet!” She looked down at herself, as if the aforementioned object would be magically there on her person. “Where did I put my helmet?”

“I assume you left both in the locker room?” Sylvain tried.

She paused. “Oh yeah, I probably did. God, I need to calm down.” She raked her fingers through her hair.

“Hey,” Sylvain nudged her shoulder. “You got this, Ingrid. You’re gonna knock all these suckers out of the park.”

Ingrid hopped in place and shook out her limbs, letting his words hype her up. “Okay, okay. I can do this.”

“Hell yeah you can! Now get out there and show them what Pegasus is all about.”

Now she was gassed up and ready to go. She zipped back into the locker room and retrieved her helmet and wheeled out her bike. It was sky blue with decal stickers plastered all over the bike’s body. Her signature sticker was a pair of white wings decorating both sides of the down tube, and the little bells tied to her handlebar.

The opening lineup where the riders were introduced went by in a blur. Ingrid waved to the crowd when her name was called, but she was wholly in her head.

It was both a blessing and a curse to be assigned to the last heat of the event. On one hand, it was better than going first as that would require the rider to set an unbelievable benchmark that needed to withstand for the following two heats. Being in the last heat made the goal tangible. But in the final heat, the pressure was on. Not only were you competing for the top score, you were competing with the others that rank beneath it.

Not to mention the anticipation that always turned into anxiety.

Ingrid sat on her bike, her leg bouncing uncontrollably to the point that the bells she had tied on her handlebars jingled. There was still too much excess nervous energy coursing through her. Her fingers found their way to the bells and began fidgeting with them, smoothing the pad of her thumb over the silver finish. The soft chimes brought her some comfort, just as it has in her past competitions.

If only it could stifle the rising nausea that came with watching her fellow competitors’ performances. Each one had a style and flair of their own, executing each trick with deceptive ease. Ingrid knew better than anyone that they were anything but, which made it even more impressive to watch. No stops were being pulled today. Not only was this the  _ Olympics _ , but it was the BMX’s first Olympics. She couldn’t believe it when she qualified to be a part of the sport’s debut. Months and months of training went by, perfecting her stunts and learning new ones in preparation for the event.  _ What if it isn’t enough? _ came the anxious tug on her thoughts.

The score to beat for first place was 89.50, second place: 86, and third place: 82. All of them high and extremely close scores to wedge between, but that was a challenge she had to face if she wanted to walk away with a medal.

“Next up, Ingrid “Pegasus” Galatea!” the announcer hyped up.

She jumped in her seat and wheeled her bike forward to take up her position at the edge of the drop.  _ Head in the game, Ingrid _ , she berated herself as she hastily waved in response to the polite applause and distinct rancious cheering from her siblings and Sylvain.

She cracked her knuckles and tugged at her gloves, making them snug between her fingers.  _ This is it. You can do this. _ With a final sharp exhale of breath, she pushed her bike over the edge.

The first rush of wind in her ears, the initial pump of adrenaline that shot through her veins. Her bike shot like a bullet towards the first ramp. Fingers curled tighter at the grips as her bike rode up.

Then her tires hit only air, hanging her in suspension.

Ingrid twisted her body, executing a front flair before turning the front of the bike until the front tire pointed down towards the ramp below. She added a single barspin just in time for gravity to take its course and she was back on the ground once more.

She didn’t pay attention to the round of applause as she turned her attention to the next ramp at the center of the arena. She pedalled hard and the ramp launched her up and over. She did a simple 360 spin and landed. Still fifty seconds left to go.

_ Was it a strong enough start? _

Her tires whirred against the smooth pavement, gunning towards the halfpipe. A backflip was next. Maybe she could throw in an extra flair for style points.

For a split second, her eyes drifted to the audience stands where her siblings and Sylvain cheered their lungs out and pumped their fists in the air. While everywhere else was packed, there was a noticeable gap between Astrid and the stranger beside her. Like a spot saved for someone.

_They’re not coming._ _They haven’t come before._

_ What makes now any different? _

_ Why does it even matter?  _

_ She was good enough. She made it to the Olympics. _

_ Right? _

_ FOCUS! _

Too late.

Ingrid gasped as she felt the familiar lurch of her bike leaving the halfpipe. Her body tensed, jerking the bike off its path. In a panic, she tried to throw in the stunt she had planned—something to salvage her mistake.

Her world turned upside down as she twisted into a backflip.

Too late.

She had lost too much height to land. Her arm instinctively shot outward, her shoulders tensing, bracing for impact. Her eyes screwed shut as the ground came towards her.

A collective wince rippled through the crowd.

“Ingrid!” she thought she heard her siblings shout.

She crashed in a tangled heap of limbs and her bike. The bells at the handlebars chimed pitifully, completely drowned out by the hard crash of her plastic elbow pads and helmet. Her ears rang from the impact and a sharp cry tore from her throat.

Her body rolled over to her back, coming to a stop with limbs sprawled out. The blue sky stared down at her, the  _ click click click _ of her bike wheel still spinning beside her. When the ringing finally stopped, the heavy breaths of air she drew took its place. She knew how forming bruises felt, and she could tell that she’ll wake up the next day with some on her shoulders and legs—more from the bike than from hitting the ground itself.

Silence filled the arena, waiting for her to move. She didn’t want to. She’d rather disappear right there and then instead, anything to spare her the embarrassment of wiping out on her bike not even thirty seconds into her first run. 

Her first run. Wasted.

A sting prickled over her eye, her eyebrow scar to be exact. It was like it was remembering how it came to be. She certainly remembers that day well enough. The same blue sky stared down at her, not quite mocking her for not being able to touch it with the flip she attempted to do, but rather...  _ challenging _ her to try again. And tried again she did. She tried so many times that she eventually earned the name Pegasus for herself.

Was it challenging her again? Or was it pitying her?

A couple of medics stood over her, asking her a flurry of questions that might as well have been spoken through a long tunnel. She blinked. She must’ve been still for a while now.

When the medics stopped speaking, knelt down, and brandished a flashlight, Ingrid shook her head and sat up with a grunt.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved them off dismissively. “Just winded,” she added with a forced laugh.

It was enough to placate them and they helped her up to stand. The audience clapped their encouragement and Ingrid weakly waved back.

“Can you do your next run?” the medic asked.

Ingrid only nodded. Her attention wasn’t on them, it was on the scoreboard and the jumbo screen next to it showing the table of judges. She bit her lip, her eyes darting between the two so fast that it was a wonder that she wasn’t dizzy.

The score popped up next to her name: 32.

Her heart sank, yet she expected as much. She definitely deserved that score. Actually, no, she deserved less. Her run was short and her fall docked her a ton of points. She glanced up at the three leaders at the top in despair. She had one more chance to beat that 89.50.

_ There’s no way. _

She’d be lucky if she even medaled at this rate.

Ingrid hung her head in shame and the tips of her ears burned with shame as she wheeled her bike away from the arena. Fortunately it didn’t feel as though it was damaged in any way. Maybe a few new dings but that wasn’t cause for worry. 

She retreated to a secluded corner, out of sight of the cameras and eyes of possible onlookers, where she haphazardly shoved her bike away. She reached up to unbuckle her helmet, teeth gritted with effort, trying and failing to steady her trembling fingers.

Eventually the latch came free and Ingrid ripped the headgear off, throwing it to the grass with a frustrated grunt where it bounced away pitifully.

_ What the  _ hell _ was that? _ she demanded from herself.  _ This is the Olympics, there's no room for amatuer mistakes like that. _ Any and all expletives and curses whirled in her mind like a tornado, coming around and around, getting louder and louder. Tears pricked her eyes, it was getting harder to breathe.

“Are you alright?” a deep voice sounded from behind her. Even through the myriad of self-deprecating thoughts, she recognized that voice anywhere. She whirled around, coming face to face with her father, dressed in his best suit and aquamarine satin tie. He held out the thrown out helmet to her.

All at once, the storm in her head ebbed away, replaced with the reflexive iciness of dread. Excitement and disbelief warred against one another as the reality set in. Her father was  _ here _ at the most important event of her entire career—no, her entire  _ life _ ? Then came the resentment that effectively sobered her up like a bucket of cold water dumped on her head.

“What are you doing here?” she asked once she finally found her voice again.

When she didn’t take the helmet, he lowered his arm and held it awkwardly in his hands. “Your siblings asked me to come. They were rather insistent on it.”

“Pretty sure they’ve tried to get you to go to other competitions before,” she spat.

“They have, yes...”

“Heh. I wonder what made this one so special.” She had half a mind to just walk away. Whatever he could say to her was too little too late. Her turn in the second wave was nearing, she needed to take this time to focus and map out her routine. Once more, the 89.50 score loomed over her head like a tidal wave.

“I was wrong to discourage you, Ingrid,” he said. “Life throws many trials at you, it will kick you down at every turn. Your mother and I should’ve never let one of those trials be us, especially not for as long as we have.”

Ingrid bristled. “Did you change your mind because I made it to the Olympics?” she accused. “I’m finally the daughter you can be proud of now?”

He frowned, his posture slumped as if guilt had physically weighed on his shoulders. “I won’t lie to you, you qualifying for the Olympics is an impressive feat, well beyond my expectations.”

She scoffed, turning completely away from him to look at the current run. What else did she expect?

“However,” he continued. “You could still be competing in Faerghus right now and what you’ve demonstrated time and time again remains the same. I just wish I had seen it sooner.”

Ingrid’s ears perked at his words, though she refused to meet his eyes. Her fingers dug deeper into her arms as she fought to keep her defenses up.

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, he elaborated, “It worried us to no end to see you come home battered and bruised. We often wished that we could afford those horse riding lessons if it meant that it would keep you from one day splitting your head open on that bike. That day you fell after that flip was one of the worst experiences we’ve ever had. Not a day goes by when we see that scar and don’t think of what could’ve happened to you.”

Unconsciously, Ingrid reached up to brush her finger over her eyebrow where the hairs no longer grew.

“And yet you endured our words and harsh discouragement with gritted teeth and a head held high. No matter how many times you’ve been put down... every time I’ve seen you get right back up,” he said.

“It matters not what the outcome of what today will be. I couldn’t be more prouder of you, Ingrid.” He bowed his head shamefully. “I cannot even begin to ask your forgiveness after so many years, so I won’t. I just hope that I may be able to prove myself overtime and give you the support I should have given from the start.”

Finally, she turned her head to him. “Father...” she murmured, feeling her arms fall away slack at her sides. The crescents left behind by her nails throbbed red hot, but she paid them no mind.

“Galatea, you’re on deck! Make your way to your starting point,” one of the stagehands called out to her.

She gave an acknowledging wave before returning her attention back to her father. “I...”

He shook his head and held out the helmet once more “Go. Do what you’ve done best, Ingrid, and get back up.”

Her jaw clenched, and she accepted the helmet with a curt nod. She hefted her bike up and made her way towards the stairs, but she paused and lifted her eyes up to the sub-wall on the other side of the park, the tallest structure here. An idea came to mind at the sight of it. With thirty seconds left before her run, Ingrid jogged over towards the stairs that led up to the top of the wall, earning her some looks of surprise and excitement from her fellow competitors and stagehands.

She wrung her hands together, ridding her palms of the gathered sweat before settling down on her bike seat. A few seconds later, her competitor’s run ended with applause and their final score was tallied up: 66.40, fifth place. It wasn’t in the top three, but it was still a score she needed to beat.

She stared forlornly at her score of 32. It was now or never.

“Next up we got Ingrid Galatea up on the sub-wall!” the announcer boomed over the cheers of the spectators. “Alright, Pegasus. Let’s see you fly.”

Ingrid saluted, slipped on her gloves, and gripped her handlebars.

She inhaled deep. Exhaled slow.  _ I’ll show you flight. _

Her planted foot kicked off, propelling her bike forward and over the edge of the sub-wall. She stood on the pedals, feeling the moment of suspension that happened just before gravity kicked in. She leaned and yanked the handlebars back into a flip. Time suspended too, letting her feel every twitch of muscle in her arms and stomach, and the soft jingle of her lucky bells. 

Then time resumed as she righted her position, earning a round of shocked and enthusiastic cheering as her tires smoothly landed and ran the rest of the ramp down. The wind roared in her ears as she sliced through the park, making her way straight towards the ramp at the center. Once more she was airborne and her precious momentum turned into a 360-front flip. Her eyes were looking for the next ramp as soon as she landed, there was no time to relish in these small victories.

She pedaled hard for the quarterpipe. From there she leaned her body forward into a front flair, spinning her handlebars for extra style. Automatically, her bike headed towards one of the ramps on the side of the park and she gave it a few more pumps of her pedaling. The ramp sent her sailing through the air and she kicked her bike from under her, tail-whipping it once, twice, three times before she had to land.

For the first time since the start of the competition, her mind felt clear. 

Sixty seconds is hardly a long time, and every second counted. The clock ticked in the back of her mind, second only to executing her tricks with precision.

In the end, she rode her bike back onto the starting platform and the countdown clock reached zero. Air was acid in her throat as she heaved for breath. Adrenaline still pumped in her veins, buzzing through her limbs and shaking her on her knees.

It was done. Her second run was over.

The other competitors applauded her as she passed them. She smiled politely, even high fived a few who raised their hands. But just like the first run, her focus was solely on the scoreboard and the line of judges. 

Her heart pounded against her ribcage. It was like it was trying to escape out of her just so it would be spared the numbing fight between her anticipation and her dread.

She showed it mercy and let her eyes fall shut. She drew a long, shaky breath. Exhaled just as shakily. Inhaled again, much more smoothly. The noise of the park faded, like it was being submerged until only the slowing thunderstorm in her chest and thick swallow of saliva clicking down her throat were all she could hear.

Did scoring always take this long?

Then the sounds of the park re-entered her consciousness, emerging from the water it was sunken in in one long rush. 

Uproarious applause and sharp, shrill whistles pulled her eyes open, and a hearty slap on her back snapped her to full attention.

87.30. She scored 87.30. She...

“Oh my god.” She medalled. She got 2nd place.

Dizzying relief washed over her, and her knees almost buckled. She couldn’t stop staring at the scoreboard. She was grinning like a fool, she had to be. And she didn’t care. She medalled even after her abysmal first run.

Ingrid turned to the audience, waving to them and sought out her family. Astrid, Axill, and Sylvain were standing, cupping their hands over their mouths as they cheered at the top of their lungs. 

How she was able to climb down from the ramp with her lightheadedness and wobbly legs she didn’t care to know. All she cared about was how Sylvain and her siblings pushed their way towards her. Astrid was the first to reach her. With an ecstatic whoop, she lifted Ingrid up and squeezed whatever air was left in her lungs. Axel wasn’t too far off, grinning ear to ear and giving her hearty congratulations while Sylvain hopped up to ruffle her hair.

She could barely speak. What words could she say in a moment like this? What could she say when it all felt too good to be true?

Even as she lowered her head for the Olympic committee member to place the silver medal around her neck, she couldn’t believe it. Her first Olympics, and she placed second.

She held the medal in her palm, feeling the weight of it and the shine of sunlight reflecting off it. 

When she raised her eyes up, somehow, even through the sea of faces, she locked eyes with her father. He smiled at her,  _ proudly _ , and clapped.

She nodded at him once. Enough to acknowledge him; enough to say that they still had a ways to go.

For now though, she couldn’t wait to show her friends. A chuckle bubbled in her throat at the thought as she traced her thumb over the engraving, committing every detail to memory. 

They’d probably have a laugh about how they all seem to be placing second.

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't already, definitely check out the other fics in the Fodlan Summer Olympics ao3 tag or on twitter @Fodlan_Olympics on twitter for the links. Thanks for reading :3


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